


Lord Baggins

by Aria_Breuer



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternative Beginning, Depression, Family, Friendship, Gen, Loosely Inspired by the Bronte Novels, Suspense, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 20:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5062057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Breuer/pseuds/Aria_Breuer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inheriting Bag End is only one part in Frodo Baggins' role to becoming the Master of Bag End. Now a Lord of Baggins Tower, Frodo finds himself in the midst of a mystery when his uncle and cousin, Bilbo Baggins, mysteriously vanishes inside the tower's attic.</p><p>Twelve months have passed. With help from Lady Eowyn of Rohan, Frodo now has one task to fulfill: open the attic door and see if his Uncle Bilbo lives. But will he like what he sees?</p><p>This is loosely inspired by the Bronte novels, mainly for its serious mood and such. Also inspired by the idea given to me from plot-generator.org.uk, which appeared in my story <i>Frodo Baggins, the Vampire, and Other Stories</i>, under the chapter <i>The Tenant of Baggins Tower</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lord Baggins

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third Halloween tale I wanted to do this month. I find it interesting because Frodo is a Lord in a tower, owned by his family. And since this is inspired by the Brontë sisters’ novels, the mood is going to be serious. From what I’ve noticed of Brontë works, they’re not very humorous; so, it’s like I’m returning to the my old self when I wrote more serious pieces, instead of humorous ones. One more thing I need to say: I finally found out which novel of the Brontë sisters from where the plot was generated. It was the novel _The Tenant of Wildfell Hall_ , by Anne Brontë. However, this fanfic is inspired by the Brontë novels and only that, because I’m still unsure about whether or not I want to read their novels. So, this is my take on the plot generated by the plot generator site and what I can flesh out from it.

It was an unusual Sunday. One of many that none dare speak, but must be told.

It was two o’ clock when Frodo Baggins arrived at Baggins Tower. He was to be the new tenant, the new Lord of the Tower, the tallest in the village of Hobbiton. His uncle, Bilbo Baggins, was about ready to leave for Rivendell, which explained the summons Frodo received. On most occasions, he would have spoken to Eru Ilúvatar on this day, but attending to Bilbo was more important.

Baggins Tower was a colossal tower made of thick grey stone and covered with a thatched roof, way at the top. It had several windows, revealing rooms upon rooms inside. Frodo knew this tower well, knew the short distance it took to reach this tower from his uncle’s hobbit hole, Bag End. But Bag End would also pass to Frodo and soon he feared.

Upon entering the tower, Frodo climbed and climbed up several stone stairwells, meeting servants here and there. He politely ignored them. Reaching the top, close to the attic, he entered a chamber belonging to Bilbo. There, the elderly hobbit packed his belongings in several suitcases. He decided to interrupt his cousin.

“Uncle, is it time?” Frodo asked.

“Oh yes, my lad, close enough. I will leave, yes I shall,” Bilbo spoke, his mind frantic. Frodo chuckled to himself, but only softly.

“Then there’s nothing left. Why did I receive this summons? Am I to be the Master of Bag End and Lord of Baggins Tower?” Frodo asked, revealing the letter in his hand.

“That you are, Frodo.” Bilbo locked another suitcase good and tight. “There, everything’s packed. Now to call the servants and give them the day off. They are in your charge now.”

“Yes Uncle.” Frodo had other plans for the servants, even the prospect of letting them all go for good. He asked his uncle one final time, “Do you have everything?”

“Yes, my lad, now… hmm… let me check the attic.” Bilbo rushed up the wooden steps and entered the attic. However, Frodo didn’t hear him for a while.

Worried about his uncle, Frodo rushed up the same steps. Only the attic door was slammed before he had a chance to figure out where his uncle was. He banged on the door several times, shouted and called the servants. But by the time they opened the door, it was too late. Bilbo had disappeared.

o-o-o

_Twelve Months Later…_

“Here is the file. You’re to meet Lord Baggins in there,” said the doctor, handing to Éowyn Frodo’s file. He pointed to the closed door, which led to Frodo’s bedroom.

“Thank you.” She took the file and headed straight for the door.

In the minutes since arriving at Baggins Tower, Éowyn learned of the strangest incidents: Bilbo Baggins’, the hobbit who helped the dwarves win the Lonely Mountain, disappearance to his nephew Frodo Baggins’ illness. The illness was that Frodo had gone mad, lost in wonder at this mysterious attic that he couldn’t avoid and yet couldn’t open. His claim: there was a ghost of his uncle hiding in the attic, which wouldn’t leave him alone. Frodo was single and therefore had no lover, but friends he could rely on. Only the hobbit hadn’t left the tower since Bilbo’s disappearance. That was where Éowyn came in, deciding to help Frodo collect himself, cure his illness and somehow gather his courage enough to open the attic door.

Opening the door, Éowyn found a hobbit with curly brown hair, blue eyes, fair elvish features and a cleft in his chin lying in a bed. He looked weak, like he had a fever and couldn’t break it. This had to be Frodo Baggins, the hobbit she heard so much about.

“Frodo Baggins, is it?” Éowyn asked him.

“That’s me,” Frodo attempted to sit up, but found he was having trouble doing so. “Who are you?”

“I am Éowyn, Lady of Rohan,” she answered, giving her introduction. “You look ill.”

“I am ill. Fever struck me two days ago. While it broke, thanks to a lot of herbal remedies, I’ve been feeling very tired,” he explained weakly. “But that hasn’t stopped my depression. My uncle has…”

“Vanished. I’ve heard of your hallucination.”

“It’s not a hallucination. My uncle is gone!” he spoke sharply and aloud. He pointed to the attic door. “Through there. I have yet to open it and reveal its secrets.”

“I’m sure that’s what happened.” She stared at him like he had gone mad. Indeed, he looked that way.

“I’m telling the truth.” Frodo looked up at her, a sincere look on his face.

“Then why don’t you answer it. Be brave. Surely you can be that, if not for anyone, then for me,” Éowyn replied.

“I don’t know you,” he admitted.

“No, but you inherited Baggins Tower. That makes you a lord,” she said, stating matter-of-factly.

“I’m only a lord in my uncle’s absence. I don’t know what happened to him.” He checked his left hand, saying these next words, “I am not sure I can get out of bed.”

Éowyn sat down on the bed next to the hobbit. “Frodo, you’re letting depression control you, but it is not who you are. You are Frodo Baggins, a lively hobbit who has good friends that care about you. Your uncle is famous, as are you.”

“Because I am a lord?” Frodo asked her.

“Because you are yourself,” she replied. “You are more than capable of beating this depression, of finding out what’s inside that attic. Don’t you want to be the hero of your own story?”

“I need to rest,” he lay his head down on the pillow.

Unsure what else to do for him, Éowyn stood up, but not without telling him, “Frodo, I may only be a lady, but I know when someone is in need. You are not sick, just in need of a friend. As a friend, I suggest you get out of bed. You can walk, can’t you?”

“I…” He stopped himself, thinking over what she said.

Éowyn knew the courage of hobbits from what she had seen so far, in the time she spent in the Shire. Surely Frodo could do this small task. And he did listen to her, for she watched him push himself out of bed. She stood back, allowing him the chance to walk, but was there when he stumbled, in case he needed to hold her hand for that extra help. It turned out he didn’t need much assistance from her, which gave her such happiness. She stopped when he reached the attic door. He was hesitating.

“What is it?” she asked him, confused.

“It’s just…” he faced her, unsure whether to go on, “my uncle vanished in this room. I’m not sure what awaits me in there.”

“Well… you’ll find out.” Éowyn nodded to him, heading towards the door. “Good luck, Frodo.”

“And to you,” he watched her leave the room.

Éowyn knew Frodo would be all right. Approaching the doctor, she told him, “Frodo is well.”

“What did you do?” The doctor asked her.

“I gave him a good piece of advice,” was the last thing she said to the doctor. She grinned, before finding a servant to lead her outside Baggins Tower.

x-x-x

Although Éowyn’s advice did help him unnerve his fear, just standing before the threshold to the attic was something Frodo had yet to overcome. Inhaling, he pressed his hand on the doorknob. He was ready for this. Turning the knob, he heard a soft click. Was the attic door always open? Confused, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The attic proved to be a wide spare room with several objects, including spare furniture. The objects and furniture were strewn about in piles, with a curved aisle as the only access in and out of the room. The aisle went about in a wide loop, ending where it began. Frodo left the door he entered wide open, as that was the wise thing to do. Just as he touched a cobwebbed lamp, he looked up as, to his surprise, he saw before him his uncle, Bilbo Baggins. He was shocked to see his uncle – eh, cousin in the flesh.

“Frodo, you look well, my boy.” Bilbo raised his hands. He was on the other end of the aisle, but it didn’t give his nephew much grief. Frodo was frozen on the spot. “Now, now, there’s no need to panic, but you do look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Uncle, how is it you’re here? Alive?” Frodo asked, concern growing on his face.

“I’ve always been alive, my lad,” he addressed him. Realization swept across his face as he pulled out a small gold object. “But this ring has made that effort for me. It’ll never leave my side. It shall always stay in the family.”

“Uncle, you’re not well. Let me take you back to your chamber, where we can talk.” He approached his uncle, determined to reason with him.

“I don’t need medical attention, Frodo.” Bilbo shooed him off. He stared at the Ring again. “Now this ring is one of magic. It can make us well. It can do whatever we want, whatever we like.”

“Uncle, we need to get you to a doctor,” Frodo said, trying again to bring his uncle out of the attic.

“Frodo, I said I’m fine!” He calmed down all too swiftly. “Now lad, perhaps you would like to assist me with a small task. I need you to go over to that fireplace.”

“And what would I find?” Unable to help his uncle see reason, he went along with his wishes.

“Oh, the usual intriguing interests of an uncle looking after his nephew.” He was cryptic. Frodo knew that as much about Bilbo.

Cautious now of what awaited him, Frodo slowly but surely walked across the aisle to the cobwebbed stone fireplace. Moving the cobwebs off from the hearth, he discovered a wood pile; in between the logs was a new envelope. Pulling the envelope out of the hearth, he examined it, finding the seal was broken. Inside was a letter, which he made sure to unfold and read aloud, not just to himself but also to Bilbo:

“Dear Frodo, I know it’s been twelve months since I vanished, but I wanted to let you know that I am safe and sound.” Frodo continued reading the letter, “I have been living in Rivendell, seeking a cure for the illness that spreads in Baggins Tower. The Ring is the first piece of the puzzle. I know the consequences, but I know now the Ring must be passed onto you. It’s a family heirloom, one that has cursed our family. It must be destroyed. Take friends along for the quest, but know that your Uncle Bilbo will always be there for you, looking after you. I care about you, Frodo, and always will, as any uncle – cousin can do. Your uncle, Bilbo Baggins.”

Frodo’s turned his gaze to Bilbo. This letter explained a lot, explained everything. Why then was he afraid of the attic? His uncle was only telling him about this letter… “Uncle, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Frodo, I cannot give up the Ring. I don’t want to give it up, and yet I must.” Bilbo approached his nephew, handing to him the gold ring. “Here. This is your quest. I am done with journeying. I am growing old now, Frodo. It’s time for someone young to take on the next journey, the next quest.”

Frodo nodded, embracing his uncle in the manner that only cousins understood. It was a family matter, one that he knew how to handle. Releasing him, he asked, “Thank you, but what will you do?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll see you at journey’s end,” he patted his nephew on the shoulder.

Frodo embraced his uncle a second time. Placing the letter back inside the envelope, along with the Ring, he strode out of the attic. There was one thing left to do: convince the doctor he was cured. His doctor checked him over, told him to rest up in case he broke into another fever and walked out of the bedroom. Frodo slept well that night and looked forward to the morning. If only morning didn’t arrive so soon. Greeting his cousins and his gardener, he said one last farewell to his uncle. The journey ahead wouldn’t be easy, but he was determined to set things right, to help Baggins Tower be cured of its curse, to protect his family and friends, to give him the hope that he needed. If only the Ring wasn’t already tempting, but so it would be until it was destroyed at Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron’s volcanic mountain. While he didn’t know what awaited him on his journey, Frodo knew only one thing: he was happy to have his friends and family along for the quest.

**Author's Note:**

> I know, this story ended like an alternative version of the beginning of _The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring_. I didn’t plan on it being that way, but I suppose that’s how it wanted to end. I still consider it a Halloween story due to the suspense, but it doesn’t really act like one, other than having a Bronte mood to it. Thanks for reading. :)


End file.
